


Narcissism and Self Indulgence (and other underrated things)

by Psythe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Very mild), (not in a sexy way), Breast Play, Dirty Talk, Ectobiological Incest, F/F, Happy Ending, Horn Stimulation, Incest, Jealousy, Lalondian Oedipal Yearnings, Mild Foot Kink, Mommy Kink, Multi, Non-Epilogues AU, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sneezing, Tentabulges (Homestuck), Troll Anatomy Headcanons, Vaginal Sex, Xeno, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psythe/pseuds/Psythe
Summary: So many of your triumphs in life - and as ruinous and chaotic as they might have been, they were triumphs - have been the result of the most impulsive, self-indulgent parts of your personality.If Vriska hadn’t been around to save you from an excess of self-control, you and Kanaya might not be together. Every great impact you have made on the world, on history, on your destiny and the destinies of those you love, have been the result of just … doing.So you just do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).



> Here it is! I'm sorry this took so long and that it had to be in the treats collection instead of the main event, but I had a _hell_ of a month mental health-wise at the worst possible time, and this is how it shook out. I love this ship! I already liked it a lot and I loved it more and more the more I wrote, Rose and Roxy have really wonderful chemistry and would absolutely share the passion for flustering the hell out of their beaus.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! I did have a really great time writing it, even if words were tough for me this month.

**Kanaya: Go shopping.**

You’ve already been shopping, actually.

You try to keep yourself just a bit ahead of schedule on these things. Rose is _beyond_ hopeless when it comes to keeping your hive stocked with necessaries, and by this point you’ve learned that she will absolutely remain cooped up inside her own head long enough to run out of food, or ablution chamber supplies, or ink, or printer paper, or laundry detergent, and end up in a situation where she’s eating exclusively takeout or (even worse) attempting to _cook._ And even if you keep up with supplies (or arrange for someone to keep up with it for you, when you’re away at the caverns for extended periods), life, like SGRUB, so rarely goes the way you expect or intend; five times perhaps out of six Jade or Dave or Roxy or one of your other more impulsive friends will just Show Up at your hive without telling anyone, or they’ll tell Rose but Rose will somehow forget to tell you, or Rose will tell you they were coming but you’ll manage to miss the message she left for you because you were busy and didn’t check your messages, or _whatever,_ and at the end the result is that then you are out of teabags and sliced grubloaf a week earlier than you planned for. (There is a non-zero chance that the health of your wife’s moirallegiance depends largely on whether or not you ensure that your thermal hull is provisioned with apple juice.)

So you try to go shopping even earlier than your conservative predictions of when you would need to go shopping suggest. This task is now complete and your purchases are safely secured in your sylladex, and you are treating yourself to a walk through the clothing department, because you do a lot of work for your household, for grub’s sake, and you deserve it.

As you approach the front entrance of the store your palmhusk erupts with a barrage of Trollian notifications, but you only have time to decaptchalogue it, open the program, and see that all of the messages waiting for you are bright pink before a similarly pink blur of long limbs and bouncing blonde curls has burst forth from the clothing department and appeared in your face.

“Kanaya!!!” Roxy shouts, causing some heads to turn and possibly momentarily deafening you in your right auricular. She throws her arms around you and gives you a brief, but _remarkably_ tight hug. “How the hell you _doin’,_ girl??”

“Just fine,” you say, “assuming the damage you’ve just inflicted on my bellowsac enclosures is only superficial,”

“Oh, geez, lol,” Her method of speech is strange, even by your standards. Sollux is the only point of reference you can really think of. She speaks with an odd cadence, and pronounces Trollian and Pesterchum abbreviations phonetically, without hesitation, as if it were normal practice. “Sorry, bee-bee,” (bb) “You okay?” (U ok?) “Want me to kiss your” (yr) “ribs better?” She tips you an enormous wink, one that you swear she leans her entire head into, and flourishes her eyebrows. You can feel your face coloring a bit. You make sure to keep your glow under control. A ritually quadranted woman you may be, but you are not immune to the effects of direct exposure to Roxy Lalonde. (Or to the effects of being hugged tightly by someone with her generous proportions.)

“Does that hurt?” you ask. You would rather talk about anything just now rather than how dangerously, effortlessly appealing she is. “It seems like you’d be in danger of pulling a muscle in your eyebrows if you do it too much.”

“Not if you practice as much as I do,” she grins and spins gracefully on her heel, striding back into the store. “Like, for real, haha, I spent like a buncha months in fronta a mirror gettin’ it exactly right,” (rite) “Living p much all alone got _really”_ (rly) “boring sometimes, ok?”

You blink. “No criticism. I lived alone too.”

“Oh yeah!!” Her head suddenly rotates and turns the full force of her dazzling smile and her brilliant pink ganderbulbs on you. _(Oh, dear,_ you think, as your pusher skips a beat) “I forgot about that tee-bee-h,” (tbh) “but you get me, Kanaya - some good-lookin’ lonely loner girls spend all their copious free time becomin’ superstar fashion designers, some of ‘em spend it trainin’ to do sexy eyebrow waggles. Haha.” She even _laughs_ verbally, sort of. It’s both an exclamation and a chuckle - if a self-deprecating one, it sounds like.

You frown, slightly. That’s not an attitude you like to see on someone so positive and lovely. “I’m hardly a superstar,” you tell her. “I’m a talented amateur, at best. And I happen to think that your time honing your sexy eyebrow waggles was very well spent. As does Calliope, I suspect.”

Roxy sighs, her conflicted manner speedily giving way to a dreamy sort of smile. “...yeah. We got just fuckin an _embarrassment_ of dreamy green Space babes who all lived alone for thirteen plus slash minus years around here. What’s up wuh that?” (whats up w that?)

“I think at this point it would be obtuse not to think of it as a signifier of a Hero of Space,” you say, as your overtaxed thinkpan catches up to the situation and fully processes a bit more of the Roxy-related stimuli it’s been confronted with. “And, not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? And how did you know _I_ was here?” 

She holds up her own palmhusk. “I have a Find My Friends type app? And I’m, uh, shoppin’ for clothes. In the clothes shop, lol. Levelin’ up my fashion stat,”

“Oh.”

Now you feel very stupid.

“Hey, you should come on and give me some sweet fashion tips!!” You’re thankful that she doesn’t linger on your bizarre assumption. “Amateur my _fan_ -tastic ass, you are for sure the skill master in the super hard to get to location that I gotta talk to to get my fashion skill to max,”

“I don’t think it really works that way,” you say, despite yourself. “A designer is always honing their eye and sensibilities. Unlike an echeladder, that has no maximum rank. Even if my own echeladder did have a lot of rungs relating to tailoring or fashion design.” Patterns run in bloodlines, you’ve observed that much, be they troll or human, and one thing that unquestionably runs in Rose and Dave’s family is the inability for you to tell whether they’re actually talking to you, or just using you as a proverbial wall-mounted practice discus to bounce their jokes off of. (You’ve had a while to get good at it with Rose in particular, but just as the principle you’re describing says, learning how to interpret your very favorite flighty broad’s snarky horseshit is a competency you expect to be honing for the rest of your long lives together.)

“Oh emm gee,” (O M G) Roxy says, voice hushed, “that is _exactly_ the kinda thing a skill master in a super hard to get to location would say,”

You sigh.

  


* * *

**Kanaya: Give her some sweet fashion tips.**

You give her the absolute sweetest fashion tips your demi-immortal mind can muster.

At least, you hope they’re sweet. Your eye for the aesthetic is one of your more finely honed attributes, and you think it has benefited from exposure to a culture of people who, on average, give at least some of a shit about how they look and are aware of the existence of more than two colors at a time, but the supreme irony is that you think it may actually be wasted on Roxy, in the same sense that getting out and activating your chainsaw to deal with a single intruding soldierbug would be excessive and pointless. You think that you could dress Roxy in a moth-eaten pillowcase with a color scheme selected by Terezi at her most outrageous, with sport sneakers and the wrong length of socks, and she would still manage to look radiant and delightful.

She has just enough similarities to Rose, in both physicality and persona, to be disarming - but everything Rose does is purposeful. Directed. Roxy is uncontrolled chaos, bouncing around the environment, leaping without a care from topic to topic of conversation - or so it seems to you, anyway. She is an enigma to your understanding or ability to predict, a truly worthy bearer of the title of Hero of Void. (You have nothing particularly _against_ Equius, but you much prefer this example of the aspect.)

She’s already holding up her palmhusk as she exits the changing room to snap a picture of herself in your latest selection, a white suit with pink highlights, moderately inspired by what Rose wore to your wedding. “Ok I kinda love this??” she’s saying, turning around to look at herself in the mirror. “I dunno if I’d actually wear it, like, Around, but just the fact that it exists would be p great? Kanaya quick take a good pic of me so I can send it to Janey,”

“It does look good on you, as does essentially everything,” you say, snapping the picture. “But I can’t help but think it’s not quite right.” You hand her phone back to her. “It gives the impression of someone … official, or someone with an institutionally minded outlook, which doesn’t suit you much. You strike me as someone who should exude a free-spirited sort of aspect,”

Your train of thought comes to an ungainly, sudden halt as you realize that someone might not appreciate you making such declarative statements about them and the way they should dress. You can feel color flooding into your face. “Uhm. No pun intended,”

But she’s staring at you with wide-eyed attentiveness. She giggles. Her laughter is _adorable_ , effervescent with thoughtless joy, bubbling out of her in big, goofy snorts. Rose and Dave have to be reduced to tears or taken completely by surprise to get laughs like this out of them. It banishes utterly the fear that you might have offended her. “I never thought of it like that,” she turns around a few more times in the mirror. Your oculars are incapable of at least cursorily processing the visual data representative of the way her behind looks in the snug dress pants you selected. “Like I totes get whatcha mean but I wouldn’ta put it into” (in2) “words like that? God you’re so smart, Kanaya,”

Somehow that was the last conclusion you expected anyone to derive from your babbling. “I dunno though, I dig it. Like, I get what you’re” (ur) “sayin’ but I jus’ kinda like the aes? I think thats good enough. Plus, hey, Rosie wore one to her weddin’ and she’s all proper and shit but she’s like the least Institutional person I ever met. And like I’m not even talkin’ about fighting old Earth’s evil clown government and also killing the head of the Supreme Court, lmao,” (luh-mayo) “like, have you _read_ her shit? My mom wrote this essay about how proper grammar is BS that’s decided on by a buncha old white dudes and ‘serves at the pleasure of stylistic taste’, and lemme tell you” (u) “what” (wut) “Complacency didn’t give a _shit_ about proper grammar, or even proper sentence structure lol, she went through like eleven editors, one of ‘em had a nervous breakdown and retired to the Rockies and became a monk or somethin’? Anyway if suits are good enough for Rosie they’re good enough for me,”

She shakes her shoulders. “Its a lil’ stiff though” (tho) “lol.”

You think, not for the first time, that you are _very_ thankful for your sweep and a half or so of experience keeping track of Dave’s verbiage, for how it prepared you for the experience of dealing with Roxy. “Yes,” you say, “It’s off the rack, not tailored.” You sigh. “I would offer to make something that fits you better, but I fe-”

Even as you say it she’s _whirling_ around and jumping into your face. “You’d make me an outfit?!” she practically squeals. “Like, a custom one?!” She’s on you with a suddenness that makes you reach for your specibus. You resist the urge. It would not do to splatter your matesprit’s ancestor’s ichor all over this textile dispensary, even if you doubt it would permanently kill her.

But that is yet another thing she has in common with Rose - how incredibly threatening she appears, by troll reckoning, and how utterly _oblivious_ of that fact she can be. Her athleticism and physicality, her large rumble spheres, combined with her bright pink eyes and generally top-of-the-spectrum-inclined aesthetic…

Rose questioned once, when you were discussing this very matter, whether the fact that you personally bore witness to Roxy slaying the Empress has anything to do with how imposing she seems. Is there perhaps, she wondered, some deeply-rooted mechanism in the troll psyche that is inclined to view her with awe and apprehension, considering the momentousness of her feat?

You had rejected the idea out of hand, both the concept and what you thought it implied - but at times, you have wondered.

It’s not fear you feel now, though, once the immediate surge of adrenaline wears off, as her wide smile and vibrant, shining ganderbulbs fill your field of vision. You feel a … familiar but still very disorienting sensation, that phenomenon that feels as though a swarm of miniscule, sparkling things are swirling about in your thorax, threatening to lift your pump into your meal tunnel, and presumably beyond and usher it up to god tier. Humans refer to it, roughly, as ‘flutterbugs in your acid tract.’ It has a bad habit of manifesting itself when you’re in Roxy’s presense.

“I would be happy to design and create something for you,” you say, hoping your voice stays even, “but I worry it would be an unwise use of effort. You make a compelling argument for the suitability of the garment - pun somewhat intended,” you cut her off as she giggles, making your internal organs perform another awe-inspiring series of athletic feats, “but when my own sense of aesthetics tells me that I would be better served just picking you out a particularly appropriate and color-coordinated t-shirt and jeans, I don’t know how well it would turn out…”

“Ohmy _gawd,_ Kanaya,” Roxy drawls, she smushes her words down so that the vowels are almost obliterated, rushed out of her mouth as fast as possible as though she were trying to save every spare nanosecond, combined with her Earth New York accent making much of her speech into a bizarre, lackadaisical smear. “What is _up_ with you?” (w u?) “I don’t give a shit what you make me, it could be anything and it’d be rad, it’s got that Maryam guarantee stuck on!” She slaps you jocularly on the shoulder. “Why you always chowin’ down on all that enriched giant-ass Bruce Bogtrotter-scale humble pie?? Go on a _diet,_ girl, you’re the _best!_ And the prettiest, and smartest, and coolest, and anyway you’re” (n e way yr) _“way_ better at fashion than like half the designers in here.” She waves a hand around.

You clear your throat politely, your cheeks stinging from the barrage of compliments. “Yes, I know.”

“LOL,” Roxy guffaws, _very_ loudly. People look over at you. “Yeah you know it!! So why you always sellin’ your hot self so short??”

“My lusus raised me with the understanding that humility is a virtue,” you say, calmly.

“Uh huh. Yup. Sure,” Roxy rolls her eyes. You bristle a little bit. You don’t appreciate her casting aspersions on your lusus’ fitness as a guardian, even by implication. “You ain’t gotta put on a show for anyone, girl, you beat the game, you got the high score, you kicked up the flag at the end of the last level and now you’re a gorgeous pimp supreme vampire Amazon babe with a babealicious librarian wizard wife who’s also a whole planet of trolls’ _mom,_ fuckin Achievement Unlocked, bitchez, I bet if your adult dead sexy lady ancestor mom could see you now she’d be all de- _hydratin’_ her smokin’ hot self cryin’ over how proud she is’a you, O WAIT, _she can,”_ she suddenly bursts out, making you and everyone else in the department jump, you think there are employees now deciding whether to ask you to leave, you are Very Embarrassed for a variety of reasons, “and yeah it’s her teen self from another universe _but that totes counts!”_

At some point in all this she got up in your face and she is very intimidating and very pretty and you are not in any way sure how to process this much unfiltered praise, when the other people in your life pay you compliments they are generally a bit more muted and reasonable than this, and you need, perhaps ironically, some space, “Thank you, but, pardon me,” you say, and quickly make your way in the direction of the public load gaper. 

Then, you stop. There’s a specific thing you’re supposed to say, you recall from human books and movies. “I have to powder my hair,”

Wait, no, that’s not right, you realize as you turn away again, it’s ‘powder your nose’, or ‘wash your hair,’ oh, goodness you are an _awful_ mess right now, and cheeks stinging with how green you’re turning you hurry off to the gaper as fast as dignity will _possibly_ permit.

**Roxy: Panic.**

You are _not_ gonna panic! Nuh-uh! You’re gonna keep it together!

**Roxy: Resist the urge to panic.**

You fail to resist the urge.

Oh godddddddd you fucked up, you _super_ fucked up, you fucked _all the way up_ , how high do you even have to _be_ to fuck up this hard, et cetera et cetera, oh Jebus what did you just _do_ \- now Kanaya is gonna think you’re a homewrecker and she’s gonna go tell Rose and neither of them’ll ever talk to you again and everything is totally effed-

You gotta do something. You have to tell Kanaya it’s okay, that you didn’t mean any of it.

But you _can’t_ do that, you might be wrong, you get this stuff wrong all the time, and anyway that would be _lying_ because you _totes did mean it,_ Kanaya _rules_ and she is _so_ hot and why can’t it just be okay to tell her that without it ruining things, why is this stuff so _hard-_

And anyway maybe she took everything you said in the totally for sure definitely really platonic casual sense you meant it! And she actually did just have to go to the bathroom, maybe you didn’t actually fuck up and everything’s fine! (Ha ha! Sure! We live in a universe of infinite possibility!) But if you _ask_ if you fucked everything up she’ll realize what was going on and how sexy and awesome you really think she is and it’ll _make_ everything fucked up where it wasn’t before, collapse the fucked waveform and officially decide its fucked state as equal to Yes-

You need a gut check. From someone whose gut actually works and understands anything about how people do. Your phone is in your hand. Okay who are you gonna message. Dirk? No, _wow,_ that’s an even _worse_ idea, that’s literally the worst thing you could possibly do - ‘hey dirk i just overshared really bad and flirted with someone whos probably not interested and made her super uncomf, weve never heard that before lmao, right, anyway what should i do’ - shit, actually, when you think about it that way maybe Dirk is the _most_ qualified person to talk to, he could probably tell you what to do to get Kanaya to forgive you - but, no, no, you can’t do that, that would be letting your ass hang out all over the place, which isn’t a great comparison because obvs your ass is great and the world _deserves_ for it to hang out but not if your horrible fucking personality flaws that hurt your best friends really bad get dangled out there along with it and reveals to God and anime that you haven’t gotten any _better-_

“I’m sorry about that,”

You _shriek._   


**Kanaya: Bounce back.**

“You okay, b??”

This level of concern for someone else seems incongruous to you following the momentary cardiac arrest she seems to have suffered upon your reappearance.

“Fine,” you say. You have reapplied your lipstick, fixed your hair a bit. It’s meditative. It gave you time to process this much raw positivity. “What about you? You jumped … very high. Was there any flight involved there?”

“Lol haha.” she laughs, a little too hard. “Nope! That was a Ro-Lal original. You, uh. Kinda snuck up on me. And I was wayyyy inside my own head there. Probly got there by stickin’ my head up my own ass. Thinkin’ wayyyy too hard lmao,”

“Well. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t sympathize with the state of being stuck in one’s own pan.” You smile. “I’m sorry about that. I was … a little bit overwhelmed by what I think I would be forgiven for describing as a barrage of suppressive fire, only instead of rounds from a projectile velocitor, there were compliments. Normally they’re a bit more staggered than that. Or at least delivered in short, controlled bursts.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of her, and her grin at last defrosts. “But that’s about me. Not you. And I’m certainly not interested in living in a universe where saying nice things about your friends is a bad trait.” You give her your best comforting, pacifying look. She grins sheepishly in response. “Would you like to get some lunch?” you ask her.  
  


* * *

“So, like,” she says, once you have settled into your soup and fish tacos, “If you know you’re better than all those other famous losers, why _are_ you so fuckin, y’know. Modest?” Her approach is maybe overly cautious. “Like - why do you call yourself an _amateur?”_

You take a sip of broth. It’s hot and spicy-sweet, enough to make an impact on your drinker’s palette, adapted as it is to the flavours of living blood. “I’m using the term as intended. It means I have not sold anything yet, therefore I’m by definition not a professional.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “You know who I’m married to. Using words accurately is a required survival skill.”

She giggles. “Lol. You right.” (U rite) “Why you draggin’ your walkin’ stubs on that tho?? You’re a hundred’n twelve percent ready to go public, take every catwalk on Earth-C by sexy pleasing-to-the-eye storm - you’re Every Troll’s Mom, there’s no label on the planet that wouldn’t be hyped to sign you up!!”

You sigh. “Yes. That’s part of the problem.

It really doesn’t matter that I’m talented. I could be a troglodyte committing the most heinous offenses to the tailoring profession _imaginable,_ and people would still feel obligated to give me attention. So how can I ever actually _know_ if my designs have merit?” You huff, irritably, suddenly realizing that you sound very bitter. Being a godhead figure didn’t sound all that bad before you got here, but having arrived and gotten a taste of it, you can’t say you care for it.

“Well, uh,” Roxy says. _“I_ really like your stuff. And so does Rosie. So that’s two confidence votes right there,”

You feel very silly again. “I know,” you say, your cheeks greening. “And I appreciate it, very much.”

“You serious” (u srs) “about” (abt) “makin’ me a custom outfit?” She leans forward, unable to hide either her excitement or the way it emphasizes her sizable rumble spheres.

“Of course.” You say. “I’d be honored.” You partially fold your touch stalks, considering. “You should come over so I can take proper measurements and do some preliminary sketches. It’s the least I can do in exchange for all you’ve done.”

Her gleeful smile is huge and spellbinding, and you think there is very little you wouldn’t do if it meant inspiring that expression as often as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Roxy: Hold still.**

You’re  _ trying, _ but Kanaya’s hands are all up in your business!! “Ooh! Be honest Kanaya,” you say, “This whole thing was just an excuse to getcher hands all over the Roxotron chassis,”

“Are you ticklish?” she asks, stretching a measuring tape over the fullest point of your boobs. You’re stripped down to your underwear for Accurate Measurements, which is probably for real but you definitely think Kanaya has an ulterior motive putting so little between her hands and your bod. “Chest front, thirty-seven inches.” You hear a little pencil scribble as she makes another note. “So, about thirty-nine inches practical.... Hold your arms out straight, please,”

“You paddin’ my bra, Kan?” You smirk at her as you lift up your guns and T-pose.

She holds the end of the tape measure to your wrist and then stretches it out. You feel those fingers of hers tracing your biceps. You hope it’s on purpose. “No,” (You can’t see her face, is it you, or is her voice a little strained?) “I’m accounting f-”

“Aw, don’t waste your breath on lil’ ol’ me,” you drawl, “I know  _ exactly _ whatcher doin’.” You turn your head so you can flutter your eyelashes at Kanaya over your shoulder. (It hurts your neck a little bit because she’s so tall.) She’s blinking. “You’re accountin’ for the fit and you want me to be able to move okay in whatever you make. So you add like a couple inches.”

Your neck does not mind at  _ all _ paying the price of another little crick to be able to clearly see the way Kanaya is looking at you after that.

“Why don’t you just take her underwear off manually,” Rosie says from the wall. You turn your head back away, grinning ear to ear. Thanks, Mom!!! Did she  _ know _ that one day her leaving all those books about knitting and crocheting around your house would help you charm the pants off a sexy alien vampire Amazon and also her hot babe of a teen self? You bet she did. You bet  _ nothin’ _ was beyond your mom’s incredible future-vision powers.

“Neck-to-wrist, twenty-seven and a half inches,” Kanaya says. She clears her throat. “Stand up perfectly straight,”

“Do I even gotta  _ make _ the joke, Rosie?”

“I think we’re in danger of exhausting the novelty.” Kanaya papers the tape measure along your spine. “I feel like we should retire it temporarily, or at least start deploying it more precisely. Language furnishes us with no shortage of opportunities to exalt our gayness to the world. And anyway, it’s not like Kanaya is going to forget that you’ve never done anything straight in your life,”

“Boom!!” you pump a fist in the air triumphantly, which makes Kanaya sigh. 

“If you’re going to throw off my measurements every time I use a word with more than one meaning we’re going to be here all day.” Her fingers tap the tape measure at the very,  _ very _ top of your ass, a nanometer away from actually feeling you up. “Back-to-waist, seventeen and three-quarter inches.” Another pencil mark. “Straighten your shoulders, please, if you think your concupiscent identity can survive it. Cross back, sixteen and a half inches. Mhm. Broad shoulders.” You grin. “Bend your arms?”

She works her away across your body, one check mark at a time, maintaining what you think is an impressive amount of self-control considering how familiar she has to get. You have to stop yourself from shivering at the tasty little thrills that run through you every time her hands brush against a sensitive spot. You’re only sometimes successful. You’ve been thinking about Kanaya’s hands on you for  _ ages _ now. You want her to stop being professional and calm and dainty and actually  _ touch _ you with those long, strong fingers, the way you see her touch Rose when it’s late on movie night and you’re watching one of Karkat’s racier romcoms and it’s juuust enough to get folks a little randy and Rose and Kanaya are making out a smidge more than just casually and Kanaya is getting handsy and those smooth grey fingers are digging into her boobs-

Rose is walking around in front of you to have a look as Kanaya takes her last few measurements. You’re lifting your leg so that she can get a good measurement of your foot. “Are you going to make matching shoes?”

“I need to be prepared for any eventuality,” she says. “I’m not very good at making most kinds of shoes. But I need to be able to design them coherently so I can get them made, if it becomes necessary.”

She’s on one knee, bent down real far, practically between your legs. You have your knee bent and your leg crooked in mid-air in a way that perfectly highlights the shape of your leg muscles. (You don’t like to brag, but you have Really Nice Legs. Actually you absolutely do like to brag.) She closes her fingers around your lower leg to hold it steady as she does what she says is your sock measurements. 

“Sock measurements?” You say. “You  _ suuuuure _ about that one, babe? I dunno… I think maybe you might just be making stuff up now, to have more excuses to keep manhandling me,”

(You’d be  _ real _ okay with that.)

“What do you think, Rosie? Is your main squeeze makin’ excuses to keep on squeezin’ me?” You look up, and lock eyes with Rose. She’s staring at the two of you. The look on her face fills you with a jolt of motive force. Any lingering fear you have still clogging up the pipes that they don’t want you here disintegrates, atomized and scattered into the void by the heat in Rose’s expression as her eyes eat up the sight of her wife with her fingers only about a foot and a few millimeters of cotton away from your naughty bits. Obvs it would be pretty fuckin’ bigheaded of you to assume you were, like, Threatening your daughtermom’s red quad, but she sure as shit isn’t threatened. She’s _ hot. _

Her face doesn’t  _ really _ look super different from how it usually looks, she still has that same expression; looking out at the world from inside the impenetrable wizard castle of her brain and just kinda observing, watching, filing everything away. But there are a few teeny details that are off. Red is sneaking stealthily (you approve) into her cheeks, making its presence more and more known the more freckly ground it takes over. The little black pupils at the center of her gorgeous purple eyes (the purple of your mom’s signature, the purple of the gowns she wore, the purple you’ve always dreamed of one day finally seeing in person, your mom ducked the cameras so well that no real picture of her eyes survived) aren’t so little at the moment. You see her teeth dig into her bottom lip, parting her lips a tiny bit. A hairline crack in the castle’s gates, a look inside the fortress.

Kanaya’s talking. What’s she saying? You stopped paying attention because the look on Rose’s face is so fuckin steamy. “While it would be an insult to my matesprit’s genetic stock to say that you are not … extremely attractive, I assure you, I’m-”

Slowly, deliberately, your heart feeling like it’s going to thump itself clean out of your chest and escape, every nerve ending in your body singing so loud you can’t believe no one else can hear it, you lift your leg a little more. You feel kind of like you’re playing a  _ really _ immersive game, where you’re one step removed and you’re watching your character’s bare foot as it moves upwards, watching through your character’s eyes as Kanaya tenses up and her own jade ganderers track the movement, like you’ve done what you  _ feel _ like the right thing to do would be and now you’re watching the results play out. But from wherever you are controlling things from the isolation chamber in your own head, you still get all the physical feedback. You feel the heat in your core, the wetness between your legs and the beginnings of tingles around your nips. You feel how dry your mouth is. You feel how smooth and cool Kanaya’s skin is on your leg, you feel the texture of the fabric of Kanaya’s shirt under the soft tissue of your toes as you place them on her shoulder, right next to her neck.

“Uh, huh,” you say, licking your lips to moisten them up, “Sure. Like you’ve never done this before, lol. You’ve made outfits for Rosie, rite? Kanaya is frozen, shapeshifted into a statue except for her eyes, which are flickering back and forth between your face and your legs, and the key element of anatomy both of your legs are connected to. You flex your toes a little, rubbing them against the side of her neck. “You musta had to measure her. Do fittings. I betcha got a little  _ unprofessional _ there,” Her hand is still on your leg, just below the knee. You look over at Rose, whose eyes are wide and perfectly round. “Maybe you took a couple measurements that weren’t  _ stricktly necessary _ so y’could getcher hands on some more’a the goods,” You gaze down at her, trying to telepathically transmit to her the desire for her hands to climb higher, to move past the knee and sliiiiide her touch stubs into your undies, to slowwwwly slide them down your thighs, revealing your at-this-point glistening sexy parts… “How many outfits you fitted her for right here in this room, huh?” You nod your head sideways to indicate the snazzy fashion studio you’re all standing seconds away from hardcore boning in.

“A lot,” Kanaya says, “More than I think I can specifically remember. Eight completed, finalized ones,”

Gently, but firmly, she lowers your leg to the floor, returning you to a standing position.

Her face is tinted with green. She looks a little strained. But she stands up. Clears her throat. (Pretty hard.) “Sock height, seven and a quarter inches.” Another mark on her sheet, which pops out of her sylladex. “Thank you. Roxy. Ahem. I’ll start work on a more detailed sketch very - ahem - very soon.”

And she strides on out of the room.

You look back at Rose again,  _ profoundly _ bummed out.

But, again, your bummed-ness cannot survive contact with the way Rose looks. She’s watching Kanaya go, face  _ bright _ fucking red-pink, mouth hanging open, hand gripping a handful of the front of her blouse so hard it looks like she’s about to rip it clean off.

She tears her eyes away from her wife and back onto you, and you look at one another for a  _ really _ long moment, and for a sec you think you’re just gonna start furiously making out Kanaya or no Kanaya.

“...she absolutely did get unprofessional with me in here, by the way,” she says. “Quite a few times.” She’s smoothing out her hair and adjusting her hairband in that sorta compulsive way she does. “I think I’d have several more exquisite pieces of clothing if the atmosphere of the studio didn’t get her quite as excited as it does, but, you know. I have to take the absence of those hypothetical ensembles as evidence of my own irresistibility to my wife-sprit. I’m a little surprised she abstained from doing so with you just now.”

And she winks at you.

No.  _ Wait. _ That wasn’t just a wink.

That was a  _ wonk. _

She finishes fixing her (already pretty much perf) hair and heads on out after Kanaya.

Now it’s  _ your _ turn to be shocked and  _ really _ turned on. Your quest, you realize, is not in vain.

You decaptcha your crop top and your cutoff jeans and pull them back on, and scurry to join them.

* * *

“Okay, so,” you say as you chase Rose and Kan back out into their master bedroom, “You gotta at  _ least _ talk to me about Rose outfits.” You look at Kanaya with your hands on your hips.

She’s sitting at her computer, typing her measurement notes into a file. “Nothing would give me more pleasure,” she says.

Rose interrupts. “Now, you know  _ that’s _ not true.”

Kanaya looks over at her, so you can see some of the green come pouring back into her face. She clears her throat, even more loudly that before. You’re starting to wonder if that hurts her esophagus. Rose is smirking like a cat.  _ (God _ that look is sexy.)

“You’re being particularly picky about precise definitions today,” Kanaya says.  _ “Very few things _ would give me more pleasure,” (You wonder exactly what Rosie’s done to her in the bedroom that she was talking about) “but what are you asking about, specifically?”

“I mean I want some inside deets! I want some Word of God on those delicious threads you keep kitting her out in so I can have some idea of what I’m in for!!” You bounce back and forth on your heels and the balls of your feet. “How long does it take you? How many steps are there? You seem like a girl with a buncha steps to her process. Probly itemized ones, with a list, and sub-steps inside the steps. ‘Step one: make preliminary sketch. Step two point zero, take client’s measurements in person. Step two point one, get as familiar as possible with client’s sexy proportions in the process of measuring. Step two point one caveat one: step two point one only applies if client is sufficiently hot,”

“I have a process,” Kanaya groans, “It is somewhat detailed and does not involve any of the things you just said,”

“Not as formal steps, anyway,” you say. Your eyebrows waggle. “But  _ informal _ ones…”

She groans and turns back to her comp screen. “Do you actually want to know about my design process, or is your only purpose to torment me?”

“I do!!” you insist. “Like, what’s your fave Rose look. Which one would you use if you mained her in a fighting game.”

“I’m not entirely sure what that means. I’m not much for most video games, perhaps a little ironically,”

(“I’m going to write that down,” Rose is murmuring. “One can never have too many examples of actual genuine irony to throw at Dave or John when they misuse the term,”)

“You can’t lie to me, Kan!” you sidle up next to her and lean on her sturdy shoulder. “I see you listed on Trollian playin’ Obsidian Steppe Online all the time!! You more of an MMO gal? I wouldn’ta guessed that one, my bet woulda been on you bein’ a Cooking Mama type gamer, or maybe a management sim person, you could get all up on some Zoo Tycoon or SimCity, but I guess I woulda lost that bet. Oh! There actually is a game about managing a jadeblood cavern and a mother grub and breedin’ wigglers and stuff, isn’t there??”

_ “Jade Underground, _ yes,” Rose butts in. “I actually introduced it to her, but she couldn’t get into it. It had too many inaccuracies to the real thing, apparently,”

You laugh and step back as you realize how obvious that is. “Ohmygod.  _ OFC _ you’re a wiggler breeding grognard Kanaya,”

“‘Grognard’ would be a legitimate adult troll title,” Rose says, thoughtfully.

“I don’t actually play Obsidian Steppe Online,” Kanaya mumbles.

“Wha?” you spin to face her, confuzzled. “My Trollian friends list lists you doin’ it all the time,”

“I don’t play the actual online game.” She sighs. “I just enjoy using the character creator. It’s extremely robust. Sometimes I just make characters and costumes in it to relax, sometimes I even use it to make very basic mockups of designs I’m working on.”

You fall onto the bed next to Rose as you fucking lose your  _ shit. _

Kanaya stares at you as you completely just  _ decompose _ on the  _ spot _ laughing, you clutch your tummy as it starts to  _ hurt _ from how hard you’re laughing. “Is it really that funny?” Kanaya insists, turning her chair to face you on the bed. You blink the tears of laughter out of your eyes. She’s glaring at you indignantly but that somehow just makes it even funnier. Rose has her fist raised to her mouth to try to hide her own really big laugh-grin that’s about to bust down the dam of her face and pour out.

“Oh god, Kan, I’m sorry, it’s just - it’s not even funny exactly it’s just  _ so You, _ of  _ course _ you’re that person, fuckin oh my gawd,”

“It is  _ really _ appropriate to you,” Rose backs you up. “In a way that’s  _ very funny. _ I assure you, we only mean this in the most affectionate way possible, dear,”

Kanaya sighs again.

“How does that work tho??” You push yourself back up into a sit, leaning on your hands as your catch your breath. “Those builders usually don’t let you try out all the different outfits and stuff, you gotta actually find that stuff in the game,”

Kanaya, for some reason, turns even greener.

“I ...may have leveraged some amount of my celebrity godhead status to obtain developer codes that allow me to have characters in the character builder wear anything that exists in the game.”

“Oh. My.  _ Gawd.” _

You flop back onto the bed again as another  _ furious _ fit of giggles takes over your body. “Kanaya. You are just. You are. You are just …  _ the _ most Kanaya,”

“I am going to choose to take that as a compliment,” she says.

“It’s the best thing!!”

She nods, in a very serious way, and turns back to her computer. You and Rose hold in another round of giggles.

“Man, though,” you say, “that must be so sick, with all the dope cosmetic mods for that game,”

“Mods?” Kanaya asks, apparently completely innocent. “What are those?”

You  _ stare _ at her.

  
  


**Rose: Admire.**

_ Please. _

As if there’s ever a moment of your life in which you aren’t devoting at least some amount of your mental capacity to admiring your wife.

“Ok I dee-elled her a drive cleaner and a non-POS antivirus, I’ma just set ‘em to run every day,”

Doing so in an active sense is extremely worthwhile, though. Particularly at times like this, when she’s at leisure - her particular brand of leisure, when she can just immerse herself in private acts of creation and cultivation. Kanaya’s hands disdain idleness. Serenity is not how she relaxes. It’s something you have in common, though perhaps in her case it’s because she seems to carry serenity with her. When she’s not being badly flustered by a Lalonde, that is.

“Wait what the shit, she doesn’t even have any  _ room _ for mods, no  _ wonder _ this comp is so slow,”

And of course it doesn’t hurt that now, as she bustles to and fro in her garden, under the blue sky, the sun highlights the sweat-sheen on her skin. You can see how the slit in that loose floral-print skirt reveals a slash of darkening grey leg with each step she takes. You have a book open on the windowsill where you sit watching her, so that you can at least pretend you’re doing something with your time other than staring at your wife, hopelessly mired in how gay you are, but between the alluring sight of Kanaya performing delicate manual labor and Roxy’s increasingly incensed color commentary on the lamentable state of Kanaya’s computer you haven’t absorbed a word on these pages for about ten minutes now.

“Oh  _ NO _ she downloads the whole program and installs it again  _ every time she has to update anything,” _

She rises back to her full, towering height from her position bent at the knees, tinkering at the edge of a flowerbed, and lifts her work-gloved hands to wipe mulch and perspiration from her front and forehead - as if a little bit of grime could ever begin to obscure her beauty to your eyes in any way that mattered.

“Ohmy _ gawd  _ shes _ literally  _ never emptied her recycle bin, the monitor actually  _ chugged _ when I tried to open it,”

Old, nostalgic angst manages to bore its way through your Sapphic reverie, conjured by the very specific way she says three of those syllables, and pull you unpleasantly back to reality. Or, not reality. To five, six years ago, before the world ended, before your definition of what ‘reality’ meant changed forever. 

It’s not  _ quite _ the same. Her voice lacks the residue of decades of age and alcohol. But somehow it’s uncanny; the delivery, the timbre, the Coney Island accent. It sounds just like her. You heard it so many times. ‘Ohmy _ gawd, Rosie,” _ she’d exclaim, the words spewing forth through the gin clogging her throat.

“Rosie I got her an external drive last Xmas becuz she said she was runnin’ outta space - does she  _ need _ any’a this shit? There are  _ so many pictures in here? _ I’ma say no, she apparently  _ thought _ she was throwin’ it away forever,”

But that’s not Roxy’s fault. And you won’t hold it against her. It wouldn’t help either of you. 

You set your book aside and turn to look at her. She’s not sitting down; she’s just leaning over Kanaya’s desk. (Maybe she was afraid that her body making contact with the seat in which such hateful crimes against computer code were committed would taint her skillz somehow.) It gives you an  _ impeccable _ view of her behind and how her cutoff jeans favor it.

You swallow. As much as you make fun of Kanaya, you’re not immune to Roxy’s appeal. You know precious few people who are.

It seems outrageous. Self-indulgent. You see yourself in her face as she turns around, a mirror image that’s just been touched up a bit in Photoshop. The seed from which your mother grew and therefore the one from which you sprouted as well. Is fixating on her just fixating on your own issues and self-obsession, reflected back at you?

She rolls her eyes, blows a puff of air upwards at a golden lock dangling across her forehead, and you don’t know that you care. “Can you do exorcisms, Rosie?” she asks. “Or maybe is there a Troll Bob Ross on this Earth or somethin’? I think we gotta beat the devil outta this computer,”

“Is it seriously that bad?”

“I mean I’ll give it another shot after it’s done deleting the  _ ten-k files that were in the recycle bin,” _

You wince. 

“And this is a troll computer so its a living thing even if it’s not smart like Halquius, I oughtta report her sweet ass to Troll PETA,”

You look back out the window. “She  _ does _ have an  _ awfully _ sweet ass.”

Roxy sidles over next to you as you look back out the window, where Kanaya is standing on her tiptoes to check a bird feeder. The breeze makes her skirt billow around her exquisite ankles. You see the shape of her outlined flawlessly against the vibrant backdrop of the garden as she stretches her long, sinuous arms.

You both just kind of stand there for a minute, gazing at your wife-sprit as her body moves and flexes.

“How,” Roxy says after a while.

“‘Clean living,’” you reply, immediately.

“Lol,” Roxy says, and also laughs, a weird redundancy she somehow manages to own completely, “I mean like. If that’s her secret to bein’ so cool and smexy sign me  _ up, _ I’ll pay any price, I don’t care  _ what _ diet I gotta go on, god - how is she … y’know. Like That,” Roxy rounds on you, “and  _ still _ get all blushy and nervous around cute girls??? Does she not know who she is?? Has she never looked in a mirror??”

You laugh. “Sometimes I don’t think so, no. But apparently we feel exactly the same way about each other, when it comes to boggling vacantly at how the other party can muster red feelings for us, which I think is probably another way of saying ‘soulmates.’ And there’s another element to it.”

She waggles her eyebrows at you, an individual-specific ritual gesture for the summoning of ‘deets.’

“Here’s the thing. There isn’t really an equivalent on this Earth. But the caste system on Alternia mandated that most jades - the ones who tended the Mother Grub, anyway - were cloistered. Which meant they weren’t allowed to contribute material to the slurry.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “No pailing.” You enjoy the expression on Roxy’s  ~~ beautiful ~~ face as she absorbs the full implications.

“But she wasn’t ever actually in a troll convent, right,”

“No. But she identified strongly with the caretakers of the mother grub. It’s what she would have wanted to do if SGRUB had never happened. So … she internalized some of the psychology, I think. As absurd as these things are, they’re every bit as deeply-rooted in our Alternian friends’ minds as the pointless societal norms and preoccupations we inherited from our own murdered Earth. Pailing still has a bit of a salacious taboo to it, I think, even the suggestion of it.”  ~~ Like wanting to kiss your mother. ~~

“So whatcher saying,” Roxy drawls, thoughtfully, “is that every time you and Kan do it you’re doin’ a sex crime??”

That extracts a snort of laughter from you, along with a blush. One of the  _ many _ attributes Roxy shares with Dave is the ability to say very embarrassing things without thinking twice about them in the moment. “Don’t call Ice-T on us, please,” you beseech her. “The pool of authorities you could potentially bring down on us is starting to fill up.”

“ROFL,” Roxy cackles, her laugh is  ~~ delightful, clear and pure like a bell ~~ earnest and terribly unguarded, you love that about her, “That’s rite Rosie, watch both your fantastic asses or I’ma throw you in gay baby jail,”

She winks at you. You chuckle, trying to hide just how much it affects you. She makes it so  _ easy _ to  _ be _ affected, like her openness is an airborne pathogen. Dave says things like this constantly, and you can shrug those off, or maybe they affect you, deep down, but you’ve have plenty of time to get good at controlling how you react to those things, intercepting the feelings as they enter your head and neutralizing them, rationalizing them. But with Dave you know that you’re both engaged in that process, all the time, together from opposite sides. Roxy is … something else, entirely. What is it about these people, whose impact on your heart is so great? Why are they so  _ different? _ Why is the first and dearest of them your Kanaya, who is so like you, only viewed from another angle, when these others are so outrageous and goofy and so  _ damned _ intelligent but so  _ petrified _ of admitting it? They frustrate you, Dave and Roxy (and many of your other friends, too). Kanaya never frustrates you like this. Maybe that’s why loving her is so effortless.

But you do love them all. You can’t not. You could try, maybe, to not love them. It would probably make your life a lot simpler. You’ve never been brave enough. You don’t know what would happen. It might  _ work, _ and you don’t think you could survive that.

“So,” you say, trying to recover yourself in the face of Roxy’s magnetic, joyous presence (and how tight her top is and how you can see one of her bra straps exposed at the corner of it), “what is Kanaya actually making for you? You’ll have already done a first sketch, if I recall her process,”

“Oh hell yes, check this shit out,” she grabs her phone from her sylladex and fiddles with it for a moment. The pencil drawing she presents you with on the screen looks vaguely … medieval, sort of High Middle Ages-adjacent, a lady’s ball gown but with more reinforcement and less hem. “You’re going to look like an elven warrior woman at a gala,” you remark. “Or maybe like if Eowyn got to wear something to her and Faramir’s wedding that actually represented her taste.”

“Ahaha. Tbh what I was actually thinkin’ of was … Frigglish. Y’know, in the first half’a Book Five where we see the past and we get Young Frigglish?”

“And Young Gastrell, yes,”

“Yeah! I love that whole bit, Young Frigglish was basically my fave character growing up, back when they’re all edgy and badass and swashbuckly? So I wanted this to kinda look like their adventuring outfit, and this is what Kan and I worked up for what my take on that could look like,”

You can see it. It’s not quite what you would have gone with. But, then, this is only a first draft. (And anyway, this isn’t your interpretation, or even your other self’s - this is Roxy’s interpretation, and neither of you ever actually met her.) “I actually thought of it when I was lookin’ through Kanaya’s gallery,” Roxy is saying, “and I saw this stuff she said was based on old Alternian fashion? Like, stuff they used to wear when the lowbloods started rebelling so they could be blinged out and fancy but also protect their vital bits. Kanaya likes the aes and I thought it’d be a cool place to start off from.”

You reach out to get a closer look. Your fingers brush together as Roxy’s hand yields the phone and you feel a little rush, a little spark. You wonder if she feels it too. You look at her, and she looks directly back into your eyes, her face as flushed as yours must be.

Roxy sinks her teeth tentatively into her bottom lip. Before you can say anything else about the outfit and push the conversation back into less complicated territory, she says,“...did you mean what you said back there in the studio?”

Your already warm face gets downright hot as you recall  _ that _ particular bit of impulsiveness. “About-”

“About Kanaya bein’ into me.” Roxy’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, her manner unusually serious. 

You swallow, very hard (this is someone trying to give you what you want, don’t fight it the way you always fucking do). “Yes,” you nod, slowly.

“...and you’re okay with that.” she doesn’t sound cautious the way you’d think. She just sounds like she’s stating a fact. “I mean. Like. I saw the look on your face when Kan was erotically measurin’ my appendages and basically looked like she was like a second away from tryin’a get exact measurements of a real specific seam, if ya know what I’m sayin,” she gives you an elbow and winks again. “I’m just, like - you’re on board with that?”

“The heart wants,” you say, swallowing, “what the heart wants … as do the … more concupiscent instincts,” You meet her eyes, “if you know what I’m saying.”

“...so…” Roxy looks at you, her eyes traveling from your face all the way down your body. You see the tiniest, barest hint of her bright pink tongue teasing at the outside of her lovely full lips. “...you want me… to be a part of your thing?” The look of desire on her face is  _ intoxicating. _ It took you  _ so _ long to get Kanaya to look at you that way, and here Roxy is just … offering it to you, freely, that precious want, that attention you would drink until you burst if you could. She takes a step closer. She has such long legs. Not as long as Kanaya’s, of course, but she’s suddenly  _ awfully _ close to you in just one stride. Your heart rate is speeding up. (It’s been high for a while, actually.)

Roxy’s eyes are like pink tourmalines carved into spotlights. “P sure the answer is yes,” she whispers, and her beautiful face fills up your world.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” you say, with no conviction  _ whatsoever. _ But … maybe! Maybe you went overboard, maybe you shouldn’t have let that idea you had back in the studio when your head was full of heat and images of them touching one another run away with your tongue like that, Roxy didn’t need to know any of those things - you agreed with yourself, after your first death, that you needed to  _ limit _ your impulsiveness, regulate it, and yes, you know that’s a paradox-

As if she can read your mind, Roxy whispers,  _ “Self control is overrated, Rosie.” _

And you realize that she’s right. 

So many of your triumphs in life - and as ruinous and chaotic as they might have been, they  _ were _ triumphs - have been the result of the most impulsive, self-indulgent parts of your personality.

If Vriska hadn’t been around to save you from an excess of self-control, you and Kanaya might not be together. Every great impact you have made on the world, on history, on your destiny and the destinies of those you love, have been the result of just …  _ doing. _

So you just do.

Her mouth is  _ warm. _ It shocks you, momentarily. You’re so used to how cool Kanaya is, bordering on chilling at times - that was your sexual awakening, that’s the baseline calibration of your sex drive. Roxy is warm and soft and  _ human, _ her kiss is sloppy and messy but  _ so _ passionate, she doesn’t hold back or hesitate or worry about whether she’s doing it right, she just  _ wants. _ Her mouth is the tap that wanting flows from and you clamp your lips onto it and  _ partake. _

Her hands are on your shoulders. Her bare thigh is sliding between your legs, the point of her bent knee nosing up under your skirt. She makes wonderfully erotic sounds into your lips as her fingernails start to tease the sensitive skin of your neck. You realize you’re supporting yourself on the windowsill, and the cold metal against your fingers brings your brain back to full sentience from the dangerous position it had just occupied, teetering on the edge of an abyss of raw instinct responses.

“Hold on,” you gasp, “Hold - Roxy -” you struggle for a moment to resist the allure of her as she tries to draw you back into the makeout, “Hang on - Kanaya,” You look round as your brain fully reprocesses the fact that you’ve been making out in front of an enormous set of windows with your wife working immediately outside them. 

Her back is still turned. She’s taking pair of shears to a large flowering bush. You exhale with relief.

Roxy’s looking at you, her face red, lips swollen from kissing, expression attempting to decide if it’s frustrated or concerned and seemingly ending up with a combination of both. Her hands have dropped to her sides. “I, uh. I thought Kanaya was down with this?”

“I think she is.” You correct yourself. “I mean, she is.” (It’s true. Sufficiently so, anyway. You can accept, professionally, that a Seer of Light who is willing to fixate on the 0.01% possibility at the expense of the other 99.99% is not a useful Seer of Light at all.) “It’s just…” you take a deep breath. “Kanaya is …” You won’t say ‘fragile.’ It’s not accurate in any sense beyond the most technical, and it’s insulting. “...prickly.”

Roxy tilts her head as you start compulsively straightening your hair and headband again. “Even if she is interested, I know that she … frets. She’s prone to … reading too much into my feelings that don’t directly include her, even if the distant and transitory ones. Not that this is, distant, or transitory!” you raise your hands, hastily, as if to dispel any inaccurate assumptions she might make with an occult gesture of warding. “This is important, I just … we can’t do it like this. Please. It has to involve her.”

Roxy chews further upon her lip for a moment, an  _ excruciatingly _ long one (you thought moments weren’t allowed to be this long anymore, you’re almost nineteen), you feel the Goddamned seconds stretch out into minutes which stretch out into centuries and wonder if Dave, connected to his Aspect as he is, experiences that same strange elastic quality of time, based on the importance of the amount as it’s passing. Obnoxious, long-buried annoyance wriggles in the back of your head that you had to stop talking to Dave about time travel because it was starting to really upset him. You might have an answer to this idle question if you were just willing to step all over your dearest friend’s boundaries!  _ God, _ you-

“Soo…. you wanna sex her up together? Or, like,”

You almost choke on your own saliva.

“Omg was that too weird,” she starts wringing her hands, “I know we’re getting all sexy and havin’ family fun and stuff but you guys  _ are _ married and stuff,”

“No,” you manage, “No, I think that would work just fine,”


	3. Chapter 3

Before you can get too into planning, the two of you are forcibly conscripted.

Kanaya ventures inside and finds you and Roxy gossiping in front of the window, and decides to put you to work. “If you aren’t doing anything else important,” she says, brightly, “You can come help me plant the gardenias.”

Your protests are relatively brief. You don’t like working in a garden under the bright sun and getting dirty, but you do like working with Kanaya and Roxy in a scenario where they are both disheveled and covered with sweat.

She arms you with garden trowels and has you dig holes for the aforementioned flowering shrubs in some of the raised stone beds lining your backyard. Her good mood in the heat and humidity is as obnoxious as ever, and every bit as contagious - especially when Roxy joins in. “Come on, Rosie!!” she exclaims, “At least _pretend_ you’re havin’ fun,” She brandishes a hand rake at you. “You gotta get some vitamin D in you!! Lookitcha, if you get any paler y'gonna look like a ghost!!” She pokes you in the arm. 

The amount of motherly energy she manages to emanate despite being the same age as you never fails to astonish, nor to elicit a deeply ingrained adverse reaction from you. Even after being quadranted with Kanaya for years now, a part of you powerfully resists even the perception of being Parented. “Excuse me. This is assault.” You recoil a few inches and feather your fingers elegantly, the pose of a noblewoman outraged to have been touched by a plebian. “I’ve put a lot of effort into this aesthetic and I regard any attempts to reverse my progress as artistic assassination. There’s still so much work left to do. I need to make myself several shades _paler_ if I’m ever going to fool Aradia into thinking I’m a spirit and attempting to commune with me.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now,” Kanaya walks past you with a basket full of clippings. You see one of her little smirks on her face.

“I feel very ganged up on,” you say, leaning against the stone side of the flowerbed and huffing overdramatically.

“Not yet y’don’t,” Roxy grins. “When Kanaya and I _gang up_ on ya, _you’ll know_ , believe you fuckin’ me, Rosie,”

“Believe you fucking her?” Kanaya’s eyebrows are raised mildly, but you can see the jade green infiltrating her face. “I suppose I _could._ I’d need to see some proof, though.”

 _God,_ you love this woman. “Okay,” Roxy is saying, “But that’s your job, traditionally I think. You think I’m good to play this one blind or you wanna gimme a tutorial?” She is wiggling her eyebrows at Kanaya like a sine wave.

“Why not combine the two?” You see an opportunity and jump in, partly because if you don’t you feel like this is going to deviate from the plan and it’ll be Roxy and Kanaya charming _your_ underwear off, which would … probably also end up okay as far as Kanaya goes, but you don’t like it nearly as much. “As with most things, the idea that different approaches are mutually exclusive is a result of narrow minds with limited imaginations.” You start to advance on Kanaya, putting a little swing into your hips. “If I’m going to be ravished, my ravishment had better not be planned with needlessly restrictive thinking.”

You watch as the smouldering expression slowly takes over Kanaya’s features as she realizes that this is more than just a flirtatious joke. Pleasure bubbles in your midsection, warm and satisfactory, spreading through your limbs. Flustering your wife is one of your great joys in this existence. 

Roxy closes in from the right, like a fellow member of the pack. You note that you’ve successfully trapped Kanaya with her back to one of the stone beds. If anyone asks, that was _absolutely_ all part of the plan. Your plan. As was the fact that if you successfully seduce her you won’t have to do gardening work anymore.

You step into her personal space, reaching for her hands. Kanaya is so amenable to your wishes, so easy to lead by the ravenous mating instincts that lurk behind her serene, confident exoskeleton. She’s adapted to you just as you are to her, your senses and sensibilities tuned to find one another’s bodies all but irresistible. She lets you guide her hands down until they rest on your hips. You stare up at her. “Well?” You say, calmly, but your eyes are fixed on hers and you both know it’s a demand.

Kanaya’s fingers sink down into the band of your skirt.

**Kanaya: Fail to resist your matesprit’s polyamorous temptations.**

You attempt to resist the urge to fail to resist the urge.

You fail, of course. You can never resist Rose for long when she’s really putting her all into being alluring.

She rises up on the tops of her toes to press your lips together, lifting her hands to cradle your face. You’re still maturing, your skin darkening and your eyes steadily approaching full jade, your horns and height still growing, while Rose and your other human friends have more or less reached the end of that part of their maturation cycle. Rose is very short and very compact and _very_ cute and very sweet and _so small and soft_ and yet despite the physical reality, you never feel as though you are looking down on her. You love her _so much._

Your hands are on her behind now. Your bulge is swelling insistently inside your sheath as she pulls back from your kiss before it can seriously descend into _thoroughly_ sloppy makeouts. You dip your head to follow her, but her hand rises and interposes itself between you, a finger pressed to your lips. “Ah-ah,” she warns you, her voice imbued with a mischievous laugh that makes your shameglobes ache. Your hornbeds itch insistently at you. Small, embarrassing subvocal trills are rising from your chest.

“Do you want this?” Rose murmurs, caressing your lips with the pad of one finger. “I know you do. I see how you look at her,” her voice is husky and low and _doing_ things to you. “She wants you,” she whispers, “and I think you want her, too, but I need to hear you say it,”

“Yea,” Roxy inserts herself at the left of your peripheral vision, taller, leggier, shiny and rosy from her exertions, terribly, painfully attractive. “Tell me what you wanna do to me, Kanaya,”

“I want,” you start, hoarsely. That could just be the end of your statement, to be honest, your bulge feels like it’s about to stage a breakout attempt from its sheath. You feel a single, tiny bead of genetic material slide down the inside of your leg. “I want her - you.” Your eyes flick back and forth between them as nigh-identical terrifyingly arousing (or maybe arousingly terrifying) smiles spread over their faces. “I want to make fashion _irrelevant_ and see your whole body. I want to touch you to find out if you’re as lovely to pail as Rose,”

You think Roxy is about to start literally drooling. Her ganderbulbs look as ready to burst forth from her face as your bulge feels from your sheath.

Rose nods. (She looks _almost_ as turned on.) “Okay then.” she says, leaning up again and making you stare directly into her eyes. “Glow for me, darling Kanaya? Let’s _show_ us to her.”

You swallow, very hard, and acquiesce.

In the daylight, you can’t perceive any visual difference as you flip your internal switch. But Roxy’s face makes a _magnificent_ transformation from ‘very aroused’ to ‘gazing in open-mouthed wonder.’

“You’re so beautiful, Kan,” she whispers.

“Yes,” Rose says, just a bit smugly, “she is. Now, dear. Roxy asked for a _demonstration,_ I believe. And yet, for some reason, I am still wearing pants.”

“Yea!” Roxy snaps out of her trance. “Yeah. Okay. Yes. I’m _so_ ready. Slap the ‘information’ tag on this let’s play. Show me how to do it, indoctrinate me into the ways of Rosie-lovin’,”

This is actually happening, you finally realize.

“Take off her shirt,” you declare.

You push Rose’s skirt down, stretching the elastic waist to accommodate her wide, lush hips, letting it fall down around her ankles. Roxy moves around behind you and peels Rose’s white t-shirt up, turning it inside out as it goes over her head and arms.

 _“Much_ better,” she says. “It’s too hot out here anyway.”

You lower yourself onto the soft grass (it’s flourishing under you and Jade’s care) and usher Rose to kneel on your lap. “Touch her rumble spheres,” you instruct. “They’re very sensitive. And don’t be afraid to use plenty of pressure. She likes them to be handled."

“Oooooh…” she slots herself in behind Rose, her arms snaking round and cupping her breasts with obvious gusto. Rose _hmmmms_ pleasurably and leans her head back, exhaling with a long release of tension. “You got the sensitive boobs, huh, Rosie?” Roxy says, massaging and digging her fingers in. She has remarkably little caution touching your matesprit like this, but the sublime look on Rose’s face more than makes up for it. You usually don’t get such a good view of this. “Ooh, yeah,” Roxy’s fingers contract sharply and Rose’s soft sounds increase in pitch, “Deffo. You inherited those from your moms,” 

Her digits rearrange themselves, finding Rose’s nipples at the peaks of her mammalian spheres.

Rose’s croons and gasps rise and fall, Roxy playing her like a skilled musician. “How’m I doin’, maestro?” she asks.

It takes you a second to realize that you’ve just been staring at them and remember that she’s talking to you. Rose’s eyes are looking at nothing, descending into the throes of concupiscent pleasure. Your flushed mating trill is intensifying to match her moans, accompanied by little clicks you can’t restrain as your bulge swells and moistens further. You can’t help yourself, not with this tableux spread out on your lap; Roxy grasping Rose tightly from behind, fingers expanding and contracting, Rose’s eyelids fluttering, her lips parted, the bones in her neck seeming partially liquefied, her head lolling back. Roxy’s chin slotted into Rose’s shoulder and neck, her mandible balanced atop the strap of her sphere holsters, her brightly-shining eyes wide and fearfully beautiful.

“Uhm,” you say, very eloquently. “Very well. You’re a natural.”

She winks at you. “I better be, lol. I’m a licensed boob owner and operator. Spent tons’a time doin’ this, to myself,” she coaxes a particularly marvelous sound out of Rose, “This is actually way easier. Better angle,” she grins at you. “Most’a the time I imagine someone else is doin’ this to me.” She turns that electrifying smile fully onto you. “A lotta those times it’s you.”

She pushes her hands fully up beneath the fabric of the holsters, lifting Rose’s breasts with a confident grasp. “Does she like it when you pinch her nipples?”

“This one-step removed ‘tutorial’ device is already old,” Rose growls, “so get on wi- aaAH,”

“That’s a yes,” Roxy says, unnecessarily in your view. She does it again. Rose _squeals._ Your flushed clicks are not so little anymore. “TBH though now that I think about it this whole thing was a pointless exercise.”

“I disagree,” Rose gasps.

“LOL,” Roxy cackles, “No I mean like, the original premise was for Kan to show me how to fuck you, but she can’t actually do that.” She blinks. “Or, she _could,_ and she _a hundo percent should,_ while I watch, but I can’t put that sweet info to _work,_ y’know? I don’t have a bulge. Sadly. So, y’know. That’d be like teachin’ me to play Crazy Taxi 2 on a WaveBird when all I got at home is a PS2,”

You decide to assume that that made sense and figure it out later. Right now you’re too turned on to worry about it.

“I have an idea,” you say.

* * *

You _have_ eaten Rose out, of course.

But doing so is … tricky, at best. Your fangs are large, and not shaped like normal troll teeth, and so the idea of exposing someone you care about’s private parts to them is even more concerning to you than it might be ordinarily. After a few … incidents during your first half a sweep together, on the meteor, you mostly abstain from giving your matesprit oral.

But Roxy is equipped in a way that you are not. Ironically, this capability is because of an attribute she _lacks,_ not one she possesses.

You say this aloud. “That’s appropriate, I suppose,” you add to Rose, laying on her back between your legs, head cradled in your lap. “That a Hero of Void’s contribution should come from an absence, so to speak.”

Rose sighs. _“God,_ you’re so fucking sexy.

Talk dirty to me more, sweetheart.” She stretches her neck back into your hands. “Tell me _everything_ about the paradox metaphysics of my teenage mother from another universe performing cunnilingus on me,” She fidgets and scoots back and forth for a more comfortable position.

“Well…” your hands drift across her chest, trailing your claws over her peaks, the way you know she likes to be teased. “I’m sure there must be something to say here about the dichotomy of Light and Void,”

Rose moans pornographically. “Ohhhhh, _baby,”_

From between Rose’s own legs, crawling between them on her belly, Roxy snorts with furious mirth. “How’m I supposed to concentrate if you keep droppin’ bombs like that? There a no-commentary track I can switch this to,” She shifts herself as she pushes her face into Rose’s groin. “Rosie! Hold still!”

“Sorry,” Rose grunts, adjusting herself again, “I’m not wearing a shirt, which is a plus, but I’m also laying on grass with no shirt. It’s kind of uncomfortable,”

“Lol. Yea. Down here it keeps ticklin’ my nose. Okay,” she leans in.

“Ahh,” Rose gasps in your arms. “Ahh. _Oh,”_ She starts making the most _wonderful_ sounds, your ability to hear them unhampered as it usually is by your position between her tense thighs and your concentration on not nicking her with your fangs. Roxy’s eyes are closed, her brow furrowed as her head slowly bobs up and down. She dips down into Rose’s nook, leaving time for her bellowsacs to intake another breath of air - and then climbs again, and that air is expelled, forced out in another delightful soft gasp. _“Ah! Ohhh… AaH! Mmhhm…”_ You keep your thumbclaws moving in a steady orbit of her nipples, coaxing progressively less and less ‘soft’ exhalations from her, the sighs fully evolving into moans, _“Mmmhn! Aahh,_ ah, god, you two, don’t, don’t stop, mmMM-” Your sheath is actually starting to ache it’s swelling so much, the inside of your underwear is feeling damp, if _anything_ else happens you are going to unsheathe, but this moment, this series of moments, is so precious. This will only happen for the first time, once. The three of you will only be together like this, experiencing one another with this degree of wonder and curiosity, one single time. You can’t _wait_ to find out what happens next. To get your hands on Roxy. But you don’t want to interrupt what’s happening here, to bring this beautiful duet the two of you are playing, with Rose’s body as your instrument, her breathless exclamations of erotic joy as your medium - and your sympathetic clicks and purrs, rising with your matesprit’s arousal.

Then Roxy pauses in her determined oral assault on Rose’s nook, for a brief moment, pulls her head back-

_“Achoo!”_

Everything comes to a halt.

Roxy is frozen, emplaced between Rose’s thighs, her eyes now wide open and peering over Rose’s stomach in anticipatory terror. Rose’s own ganderbulbs have opened, and she is blinking, nonplussed, up at the sky above you.

“Roxy,” she says, her voice still ragged, “Did you just sneeze into my vagina?”

“No!” Roxy looks as though she’s trying to take cover behind Rose’s groin. “I … came really really close. To sneezing in your vagina.”

“Okay, that’s enough. The untarnished beauty of nature is all well and good but I’m not having sex on the grass, my back is _very_ irritated now, someone go get a blanket or something, this can be a sex picnic-”

They both squeal as you pick them up, one in each arm. “Way too much work,” you pant, and stagger towards the hive, your sheath feeling as though it is _very_ close to bursting.

**Rose: Fondly regard consummation.**

How could you _not?_

You don’t even get _close_ to making it to the bedroom. Kanaya almost _throws_ you onto the couch. You briefly take as much stock as your arousal-swamped brain can manage. Your skirt is missing. It was still around your ankles last you checked. Now there’s just your panties, wrapped comically around one foot.

That’s all the attention you have for external affairs, because Kanaya is hauling Roxy onto her lap, yanking her clothing offf. Her instinct not to damage anything and her obvious ardor are tripping over one another and everything is getting horribly tangled until Roxy says “Fuck it,” and captchalogues her own top and shorts.

“The knot of Gordium, sliced clean through,” you gasp, your hand descending to stroke your clit. “Behold, the prophesied future queen of all Asia,”

“Sure, cool,” Roxy says, reaching for Kanaya’s skirt. “Right now tho I gotta be queen’a this _dick,”_

It’s silly, but it niggles, like a pebble in your shoe, so you put a hand on Roxy’s chest, between her and Kanaya. “I appreciate the turn of phrase,” you say, as firm as you can, “but _I_ am the queen of this particular xeno-dick.”

You make the point by reaching up and grabbing Kanaya around the smoother horn to calm her down. She sighs, the pacification response tinged with arousal. You stare Roxy fiercely in the eyes, the air between you brittle - but her face softens. “Duh. You got the ring on your finger. I’m just an appreciator of fine goods.”

Kanaya’s hands encircle you both. “I’m proud of you both for getting along. But you’re both very very hot and you’ve been getting me worked up all day and my bulge _really_ can’t wait any longer…”

You give her horn another little tweak and reach for the tie on her skirt, pulling it back like a curtain to reveal the expanse of immaculate glowing thigh beneath, and then your wife’s entire lower half.

“Ohmygawd,” Roxy says (another little pang in your heart, though it’s smaller this time). “Are those _sexy white lace panties?_ You wear _sexy lace panties_ to go out and garden in the middle of June??”

“They are stain-proof and very well-made.” Kanaya sniffs, doing her best to be dignified even while her chest cavity is putting out sounds that mean, roughly, ‘I want to fuck you and combine my genetic material with yours’. “The lace designs are ornamental and sewn directly into the fabric. They don’t stand out. I can be comfortable and sexy at the same time.”

“Mhm,” you say, “I’m afraid immaculately crafted white lingerie is where Kanaya’s taste in underwear bottoms out. It only gets less casual and more sophisticated from there. And, yes,” you add, as Roxy turns to grin at you, “‘bottoms’ was intentional there. I _am_ related to you. Whatever gene controls ability to make dirty jokes, I have some of it too.”

“God I love you,” Roxy sighs. “God I love you both,”

That silences you for a moment.

How can she just … _say_ that? How it is so _easy?_

“Have you had sex with a troll before?” you ask, watching Roxy’s face attentively as she stares with fascination at Kanaya’s underwear and the jade stains seeping from behind it.

“Nuh-uh. But I have watched _loads_ of human-troll porn.”

“Okay, then.” You give your breast a pinch. It gets a shiver out of you, but it’s not as good as Kanaya or Roxy’s hands. External stimulation always wins out, contact that doesn’t originate in your own brain. “Show me. This is my part of the tutorial. Or maybe Kanaya’s part, we should say.” You and Kanaya pull her skirt entirely off and she drapes it over the back of the couch (More gingerly than anyone as horny as she must be right now should ever be able to do. God, your wife is adorable.) “Get Kanaya to unsheathe.” you tug her panties down. “It probably won’t be difficult, she must be pretty pent up at this point. But let’s see what you’ve got, shall we?”

Teasing out Kanaya’s bulge isn’t a complicated business, really, but it does require a delicate touch. You need to stroke the borders of her sheath, to relax the muscles directly adjacent to it and convince the chitinous covering that it’s safe to retract and expose her most sensitive part. Normally you do it with one or two fingers, a few gentle touches, just the tiniest amount of pressure, like a massage.

You’re taken a little aback when Roxy just dives right the hell in and starts _licking_ at them.

“Roxy,” Kanaya makes a valiant attempt, “wait-” and then the little beetle-wing casings between her legs part and she unsheathes, almost _explosively._ Her bulge writhes out and slaps Roxy in the face.

She recoils, but her expression is just surprised, not disgusted or alarmed. Kanaya looks mortified. “I’m sorry. I’m just - as Rose said, I’m very excited,”

 _“Yeah_ you are,” Roxy says. Her pink tongue reaches out of her mouth, as you watch in amazement, to lick some of the jade residue off of her cheek.

She pauses a moment, then nods minutely and leans back in.

“It seems like xenophilia also runs in your blo - ooo - _ohhhhdlinee, aaaah,”_ she moans, her toes curling, her head dropping onto the couch back as Roxy kisses the tip of her bulge and starts sucking it into her mouth. She props her chin up in both of her hands, wrists resting on the side of the couch, and slurps up your wife’s phallus like a thick, green spaghetti noodle.

“Mm-hm,” you say, hand going back to work on your stiff, aching nipple, “we’re all monsterfuckers,”

“Wh-what about Dirk,” Kanaya stammers, the skeptical eyebrow she tries to give you entirely ruined by the gasps and whines that keep escaping her mouth.

“He’s a _robotfucker,”_ you murmur, your eyes absolutely fixed on the sight of Roxy, “It counts.”

With a slurping sound that your sexuality is at this point trained to find _incredibly_ hot Roxy pulls Kanaya’s bulge out from between her lips. “Di-Stri just hasn’t found the right alien yet,” she says. She licks her lips. “Sooner or later he’s gonna meet some nice hunky troll dude with a thing for automation who thinks it’s cute that Dirk gives Ted Talks about AI rights while he’s being pounded in the butt, and then it’s welcome to the family,”

“It really is ... uncanny ... _just_ how much she sounds like a female Dave sometimes,” Kanaya says, gasping for air.

“Betcha that does it for Rosie too,” Roxy tips you another massive wink. Kanaya chuckles breathlessly.

“Do you have firsthand knowledge of Dirk’s propensities in the bedroom?” you shoot back at her, bristling for reasons you can’t even identify.

She sticks out her tongue. “Doesn’t have to be a fact to be true, Rosie,”

You reach behind your back to undo your bra strap. You’re only mostly naked, you need to be _entirely_ naked if you’re going to participate in this. “That sounds like a quote.” 

“Yep.” Roxy says, brightly. “From my mom.”

Your face is already red, but now you blush, for real.

“Hey, can I do the horn thing?” She sits down on the couch next to Kanaya. “Y’know. The Red Band. Oh, man, are there troll sex shops called the Red Band?”

“Yes,” you say, setting your bra aside. “Dave and I have been to one. I’m told there are others. You want to touch Kanaya’s horns?”

Her eyes shine wickedly. You look at Kanaya. She looks _very_ nervous, and _very_ aroused, judging by the way her bulge is twitching. A smile spreads over your own face.

“Certainly. But not unsupervised.” You sit down on Kanaya’s other side. “And not alone. She has two horns, after all. And no matter how much porn you’ve watched, you don’t have any hands-on experience.

Start with the scalp,” you murmur, pushing your fingers into Kanaya’s hair. “Right at the base of the horns. Scratch it. Not hard, but not soft, either.” 

Her fingers descend, a little too eagerly. You wife stiffens and releases a series of keening whistles and her bulge thrashes around like a trapped snake. “No, slow down. Not like a cat or a dog. Long, single strokes, like _this,_ ” you drag your fingertips across the surface of Kanaya’s head. 

She _whimpers,_ and the sound she makes is a _wonderful,_ perfect flushed purr.

Roxy is a quick learner. “Oh my god that _noise,”_ she whispers. “I’ve heard it in videos obvs but this is different,”

“I know. In person you can feel the subvocals.” You stroke Kanaya’s chest. “She expresses her love with a lot of different voices. With her whole body.” You kiss her just below the ear. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Yeah,” Roxy says, not flirty like usual. “She is,”

“Try the horn, now,” you say. “Use your thumbnail. Don’t be gentle, she’s built to handle claws.” Roxy’s wrist slides up into Kanaya’s mane. “Be careful and stay low, in the red band. The orange one is, as the kids say, a total mood-killer,”

Kanaya _melts,_ ecstatic _crk-crk-crk_ sounds emanating from her chest. Her pupils dilate. “Roxy,” she pants, “Rose…”

“Man, _lookit her,”_ Roxy leans in, fascinated. Again your heart aches, in that very specific way she has the power to inflict on you. She looks so much like your mother, and yet nothing like her. You have no reference, you never saw your mother looking this way, so bright and alive and excited about life. She looks like a scientist, a scientist encountering a new and fascinating phenomenon for the first time, her face alight with the joy of discovery, of novelty. Did your mother ever look like that? _Was_ she like that when she wasn’t with you? Was this the part of her life you never witnessed, never understood?

It’s here now, in front of you, and you aren’t going to miss it this time. You know now that you made the right decision. Kanaya deserves nothing less than to be _adored,_ to be cherished and treasured to just this degree, at a bare _minimum._

She’s yours, but you can share her. Roxy contains enough love to be worthy of it.

“God you’re gorgeous, Kan,” she’s saying, draping a leg over Kanaya’s and cuddling up to her, laying her beautiful body against hers. She was already pretty, and she hasn’t stopped filing out since you met. The paragon of curvaceous feminine loveliness visible in pictures you remember of your mother’s younger days is in her very near future. The effect on Kanaya is _quite_ noticeable. Her bulge is rippling and pulsing, globules of gene-material dripping from it onto the couch, writhing back and forth looking for something to bury itself in. Roxy’s hand descends to it experimentally and an intrigued giggle bubbles out of her as it tries to coil around and between her fingers. “And you’re _so easy_ to get goin’... how much does Rosie do this to you?” Her voice drops to a hot, throaty whisper (you feel like you can almost _see_ the sex dripping from her full lips). “Does she just come in in the middle’a the day, when you’re sewin’, or when you’re out to dinner, and just rev you up?” She starts stroking Kanaya’s bulge with her thumb. Your pussy is throbbing demandingly at you. You’re not sure how much longer either you or your wife can control yourselves at this rate. “I guess I dunno why I’m surprised Rosie, it’s so easy to make her blush, but she looks like Troll Wonder Woman, I can’t _believe_ she’s such a _sub,_ you were talkin’ about _bottoms,_ LMAO,”

“Well,” you say, “It’s somewhat predictable if you’re up on your paradox lore.” You slide the fork of your fingers around the base of her horn. “Kanaya is a Sylph of Space, which is a very passive role. She has powerful yin, if you take my meaning. There’s a lot of discourse surrounding the concept, but I assure you that it _absolutely_ makes sense that my wife is a bottom.

But,” you hum, “here’s the thing. When a Sylph is pushed into a position where it no longer makes sense for them to be passive… they can take on a much more active role. Their yang can grow to fill the space their yin normally occupies. And when that happens… more ‘well-balanced’ classes, like you and I?” you lean over, and whisper, your breath casting directly onto your wife’s ear, _“we don’t stand a chance.”_

Kanaya _pounces,_ grabbing Roxy by the arms and lifting her up. She _squeals_ as she’s placed forcefully onto Kanaya’s lap, you’re ready when it happens and you’re behind her, you wrap your arms around her tightly and hold her still as Kanaya pushes her legs open. Her bulge finds the warm opening and burrows inside with long, determined muscular contractions. 

They’re both so wet that there’s almost no resistance. Kanaya _croons_ in pleasure and relief, you can feel Roxy rocking on top of her as the bulge starts to work in her pussy. _“Oh, Roxy,”_ she slides her limbs around you, enfolding you both in her embrace and her concupiscent rumble-buzz-purr. “Oh, mmhm, oh you feel _so good,”_

Roxy is panting, mouth agape, racking trembles suffusing her whole body at what you know is the feeling of Kanaya curling and uncurling and swelling inside her. You squeeze her as tight as you can as Kanaya starts to fuck her, enjoying the pressure of her back against your breasts. “Is this what you wanted?” you whisper in her ear. She nods, precariously, a movement almost indistinguishable from her convulsions atop Kanaya’s tendril, and you reach forward to cradle her head and stop it shaking. “You only experience it for the first time once. But once you go troll, you never quite go back. _Nothing_ feels like her inside you. Can you feel her moving in you?”

“Yeah,”

“Can you feel her expanding and contracting?”

“Ye-eah,”

“You feel the muscle as it moves from her into your pussy?”

“Yeahh,”

“Do you feel,” you’re gasping yourself now, you’re grinding against the generous firmness of Roxy’s ass, “it filling you up, do you feel the sensation, as each pulse of genetic material crosses the bridge from her into you, are you riding it, does it feel like a wave of electricity in your cunt every time she comes in you,”

“Yeah, yeah, god, fuck Rosie where did you learn to talk like that,” she gasps.

“Does my mom not approve of my filthy language,” you groan back at her. You have one arm wrapped around her, hand rubbing circles around her full breast, and the other sandwiched between your own groin and her magnificent ass, fingering yourself as vigorously as you can. “Would she have a problem if I said how much I was enjoying watching my wife go shameglobes deep in her while I feel up her amazing tits, and fingerfuck myself at how hot this is,”

“She would have, the - aah - the opposite of a - hhhaah - problem, with that, Rosie, youhhhhah, you’re, fuck, god,”

“Yes, I am a fuck-god,” you smirk into the side of her neck.

“You are both too sexy to be allowed,” Kanaya interrupts, leaning down over Roxy’s shoulder to capture your lips with hers. The angle is atrocious but you kiss her anyway, opening your mouth to her questing, ravenous tongue for the second or two before Roxy’s erotic paroxysms (eroxsyms, you hope you remember to write down later) pull your mouths from one another. Roxy turns her head to try and kiss somebody, you don’t know who, and the three of you end up in this terrible awkward three-way pileup of mouths and tongues and teeth, trying to express affection for one another and pretty much entirely failing, but the point is gotten across anyway.

“Y-y’know, Rosie,” Roxy stammers, “r’member I toldja, aah, ah, about F-frigglish,”

“Of course,”

“Well, I - _fuck,_ Kan, fuck, aah, agh, god, Frigglish, was my fa-fave, and I, hh, ah, used to get myself off thinkin’ about ‘em, and I, hh, I read, and wrote, _so_ much porn, I, I made an OC, and I jilled off _all the time_ thinkin’ about her and Frigglish, and - and then - aaAH, I read my mom’s notes, and I found out - I found out - god - that Frigglish was based on her,”

“Kanaya, darling, sweetheart, please hold on a moment,” you reach out and snag her horn again.

“Rose?” Kanaya whines.

“Rosie?!” Roxy sounds almost panicked. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, that was _way_ too weird, wasn’t it, I c-”

“Roxy, no, shoosh, you’re fine. I’d just like you to turn around. Do you mind Kanaya penetrating you from behind so you can eat me out at the same time?”

Dawn breaks over Roxy’s head.

It proves to be a bit of an ordeal, configuring everyone in such a way that you can do what you want, but eventually you end up with Roxy laying on her stomach, Kanaya positioned atop her thighs, her still unsatisfied bulge wriggling back into her slit. You sit at the other end of the cough, one leg hanging off the side, the other extended and laid flat, while Roxy’s head dips into your muff.

Her mouth is _mystical,_ you think there may be genuine sorcery in her tongue. She makes herself at home between your legs as though she were a life-form specially adapted to the environment, a species forged by the harshest evolutionary processes of some distant planet or by the ingenious genetic science of a technologically ascendant progenitor culture to have a perfect command of your snatch. You can’t rule this possibility out, you suppose, given all of your origins. Skaia _might_ have ectobiologically engineered Roxy, in part, to be absolutely fucking amazing at going down on you.

You lean your head back, moaning _shamefully_ lewd vocalizations up into the ceiling, until suddenly something sharp and firm is grasping the front of your chest and you look down to see Kanaya sinking her polished claws into the meat of your left breast. You _scream._ Kanaya’s face is in yours, one of those delightfully long, versatile arms grabbing the back of your head and pulling you forward to kiss her again, properly this time. She can’t restrain herself, once her mating instincts are roused she’s _insatiable,_ her bulge fucking whatever it goes inside without mercy or pause or hesitation. Assuming that Roxy would be comfortable with how rough Kanaya is when she gets going was a bit of a gamble, but from this perspective the idea that it might not have been a wise one, or that any of the three of you could have ever resisted it, seems so ludicrous as to beggar belief.

Kanaya kisses you with the energy of a woman dying of thirst, she kneads your aching, swollen breast and Roxy’s lips form a hermetic seal over your clit, and you don’t know if you can take it, this much love, this much want, being wanted and desired and _needed_ like this by two of them at once, you don’t know if you can _survive_ it, it’s filling you to overflowing, to bursting - but you can’t give it up, not for anything, you _need_ it, you guzzle it down, suckling their love and their want directly from the tap, and to die like that, for your heart and blood vessels to simply give up in the face of so much love-

That would not be a bad way to go, you think.

**Roxy: Recover.**

It takes a while, you can’t lie!

You’re p sure you came like five times. After it’s done and Kan’s bulge is done dripping trollspunk into you and winds itself back up, leaving you feeling empty and achy and so, so, _so_ good you have to just … lay there on the couch for a while, like a lump. The others are too blasted to move much either but they manage to get all three of you arranged sort of like humanoid sapient life of the couch together, and you flop there, holding each other, sticky and exhausted and totally immersed in love.

“Where do you get off,” you say, after a while, when Kanaya’s provided everyone with snacks and water and you can sorta form words again, “keepin’ that bulge all to yourself this long?”

“Right here, occasionally,” Rose says, smirking _extremely_ sexily. “Largely in the bedroom. Sometimes in the boathouse, a few times in the bathroom…

“At least once in the chair at my sewing bench,” Kanaya adds. She sounds _wiped,_ just kinda lyin’ there with one Lalonde tucked into each arm. “We probably shouldn’t repeat that one.”

“Don’t give me a challenge, dear.” Rose says. Kanaya sighs.

“...so,” Rose says, ending another nice companionable silence. “You need to tell me about this OC of yours.”

“Uh. Well. It’s _super_ embarrassing. In, uh, ways that aren’t about sorta wanting to sex my mom at like two steps removed.”

“Obviously.” Rose sniffs. (Her sniff is a little less smug when she’s this worn out, but still basically on brand.) “Oedipal implications are basically Tuesday in this family by now. And I don’t care. Embarassment at this stage when we are all covered in one another’s fluids is just tacky. I want, Roxy, to hear ‘the deets.’”

“...okay,” you say, “but in exchange,”

“This is not a transaction,”

“In exchange!!” You lift your tired, muzzy head and peek at Rose over Kanaya’s smooth chest, still glowing. “In exchange, I wanna hear about me. Your me.”

Rose sighs. “Roxy,”

“I just wanna know if she was hot!!!” you cry. “This is a serious question!! Do I grow up to be a MILF, Rosie, Y/N?? Like just from an academic perspective,”

Rose rubs her face with the palm of one hand. "Roxy. I was thirteen when I last saw my mother, and despite your implications and my wonderful wife’s decision to plant his favorite flower in our garden, my affection for Freud is not so strong that I'd succumb to the impulse of ogling my own mother as a child."

“Ok but like... we both kno that’s bullshit, right," you lean over. “Did I have good titties? I hope I had, like, big fuckin anime titties,"

Rose heaves _the_ biggest, most powerful, most overdramatic sigh you have _ever_ heard in your _entire_ life, a sigh so stuffy and pretentious that you believe in a way you’re not actually totally sure you did before this moment that, separated by time and space and universes or not, _this_ is the lady who wrote Complacency of the Learned, and says, so solemn she could be giving a sermon to a bus full of Mormons, “You had the biggest, most righteous motherfucking anime titties I ever saw.”

_“Snrk,”_

Against all odds you would’ve lain, it’s Kanaya who lets out a little spurt of a laughter at that.

Another quickly follows it, and then she’s snorting and hooting and hollering in that big deep jazz-bassoon voice of hers, and you and Rose both crack, and then you’re just _dying,_ all three of you, losing your minds together at how fucking stupid and funny this is and at how happy you both are, Kanaya gathers you both up into her arms and hugs you to her bosom and maybe it’s not gonna last, it never does, doubt and worry and anxiety always come back sooner or later - but that’s OK. You ain’t gotta worry about that now. 

And when you do, they’ll worry about it with you.

* * *

\--  techieGnostalgic [TG] began pestering uranianUmbra [UU] at 4:43 --

TG: hey callie  
TG: hey callie hey callie hey callie  
TG: ship?  
TG: SAILED, BAY-BEE  
TG: ur ot3s canon now girl  
TG: i assume  
TG: you want the hot goss  
UU: while it’s still piping hot, if it’s not too mUch troUble!  
UU: yoU spoil me so terribly rotten, roxy.  
TG: ; ))))))  
TG: <3  
UU: <3


End file.
